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[Mint] >> wear fancy panties.
Winter [Mint] >> I CAN’T WEAR THIS.
[Mint] >> Where are you going?
Winter [Mint] >> I have no idea. Downtown Palm Beach????
[Mint] >> You can wear it. I will stake my reputation on that.
Winter [Mint] >> HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SIT IN THIS?
[Mint] >> Carefully.
Winter [Mint] >> I didn’t bring a bra for this!
[Mint] >> You don’t wear a bra with that. Wear fancy panties.
Winter [Mint] >> 0_o
[Mint] >> Or skip the panties. I recommend panties, tho.
Sterling was not going to take “no” that night, and it was this “dress” or nothing.
I shimmied into it and twisted around in the mirror to see how much of everything wasn’t covered. If I was very careful and did my best mannequin impression, the hem covered everything with two inches to spare. The dress didn’t cover my sides terribly well either, so one wrong move of my arm and definite side-boob. Note to self: do not lean forward. At least it weighed about three pounds and wouldn’t blow up over my ass in the ocean breeze.
The instructions also said to dust myself with the body glitter.
“I look like a fish,” I told my reflection once I observed the finished product. Shiny eye makeup, mascara piled on thick, a shimmery lipstick, and shimmery bodyglitter dusted all over my exposed skin. Which was pretty much all my skin. Fishy-belly pale and shiny scales.
I wriggled my feet into my heels, which were a solid six inches of ankle-breaking peril, and clicked carefully into the front room where Sterling contemplated satellite maps on his laptop. He’d showered and changed, but hadn’t bothered to shave the dusting of evening scruff off his jaw. Dark pants tailored to his body—and the way he was sitting left so very little to my no-longer-innocent imagination and I wondered if they were comfortably supportive, or if he suffered in the name of fashion—and equally tailored shirt of a luminous white-lilac shade. Top button undone. Moonstone and platinum cuff links. Gold-face antique watch on one wrist ticking away the minutes.
He glanced over his hand as I walked in, then dropped his pen.
“Too much? Not enough?” I asked, turning around so he could get the full view of just how little I was wearing. “I must look like the third course.”
“You look amazing.” His voice was hoarse.
I barely heard him as I twisted one leg to look at the back of my glittering calf. “I look like a fish.”
He turned me around and drew his hand over my rump, bunching the fabric in his palm. I shivered and bit my tongue as his hot gaze took in the skimpy triangle of periwinkle-blue trying its best to cover my rump. Then he lowered my hemline and kissed the base of my neck. He raked his teeth lightly over my skin and I gasped, and he snaked his other arm around my hip to press me against him.
His other hand was between my thighs. “What are you—”
“Unwrapping my present.” He bit my neck lightly, fingers moving over the suddenly soaked silk between my thighs.
“You—aren’t—being—fair—” I panted and squirmed.
“You’re rubbing your ass on my cock. It’s fair,” he whispered.
I broke out of his grip and staggered on the death-heels. “Food first. Then fun.”
He dusted a bit of glitter off his sleeve, expression raw and smoldering.
“Oh, I’m worth the wait,” I teased him as I headed out the front door.
All Sorts Of Steam
Dinner first, as promised, then to some illuminated, crowded-outside building where everyone else was wearing a few threads and lots of glitter. Past the lines waiting to get in, a few words with the burly types at the door, and inside a thundering maw of darkness.
